


Bitter Grounds

by keelywolfe



Series: by any other name [87]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Angst, Coffee, Feels, M/M, Spicyhoney - Freeform, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), kustard - Freeform, papcest - Freeform, sancest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 13:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21302756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: Sans wasn't asking for much, just a cup of coffee with Edge. And maybe the answers to all the problems in his life, if Edge could give him that, that'd be great, thanks.
Relationships: Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale), Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Series: by any other name [87]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1039829
Comments: 36
Kudos: 116





	Bitter Grounds

* * *

Of all the things Sans planned out for his day, sitting in a kitchen watching Edge make coffee wasn’t one of ‘em. That meant going through the whole matinee show, not like the Edgelord was going to settle for some Folgers crystals, was it. Oh, no, he had to grind the beans before pouring them into basket, filter some water and pour it in to brew. Set out cream and sugar like he didn’t already know they both took their coffee black, just in case Sans grew a sweet tooth on his way over. 

Edge had a thing about appearances, and far be it for Sans to be pissy about it. It was his party, Edge could make coffee how he wanted.

But the wait left Sans sitting at the table, trying not to fidget too blatantly. Wasn’t like he hadn’t asked for this, anyway, because he had, and directly at that. Bald-faced told Edge he wanted to talk, and he was only a little surprised that Edge readily agreed. Not that he had a problem with Edge, nah, not anymore. Took him a little while to get to there, that he could admit, but not as bad as Stretch’d been at the beginning. Judging Edge off one glance at his LV and there were times Sans idly wondered how things might’ve been different if that hadn’t been the case. 

Not that he ever wanted a chance for a do-over, thanks. The very thought made him shudder, fuck, he didn’t even want to speculate and tempt the fates. Buckle that idea down, drop it in the mental void, and move on.

Sans’s only real issue with Edge was the whole ‘looking through a darkened mirror’ angle, seeing his bro the way he could’ve been in a not-too-different time and place; who knew what butterfly effect sent Underfell teetering the way it did, which step down what path left so much dust in its wake. Red was easier in a lot of ways, mostly because Sans could see himself a little too easily there. Assholes were easy to deal with when you were one. 

But a version of Paps with LV, that’d been a struggle. 

It was easier these days. There were still little bits of resemblance, sure, but a few months Aboveground and all of ‘em grew in different directions. Nature and nurture, Sans guessed, they were all plenty different underneath the thin veneer of similarity. 

The smell of the coffee intruded, and Sans took the interruption gratefully, accepting the plain mug Edge handed him. His own mug said, ‘I love you a latte’, and Sans didn’t need two guesses to know who gave him that one. 

A plate of cookies joined the mug, proper biscotti, la-te-da. Sans took one, using it as a crispy spoon to stir the dark liquid. “so, your bro—" 

“No,” Edge calmly interrupted him. He took a sip of his coffee, holding the mug in both gloved hands. “Absolutely not. I don’t suffer from my brother’s twisted Cupid sensibilities. If you want him, you’re on your own.”

Oh. Well, that was fucking helpful wasn’t it. Sans dunked his cookie into his cup again a little too hard and it broke off, sinking into the murky depths. Trying to fish it out only turned it to mushy crumbs that weren’t worth eating or drinking, or whatever combination of the two might work.

Seemed like a metaphor for something and Sans didn’t want to guess at what. Sans sighed and shoved the mug aside. “okay, then. thanks anyway, edgelord, i’ll see you around.”

Before he could dredge up enough magic to shortcut the hell out of there, Edge said his name with quiet intensity, and how fucked up must it be for the others, to call someone else by their brother’s name? “Sans, I would give a great deal to see my brother happy. More than I can properly explain. But I can’t give you any advice about him. There’s nothing I could tell you that you don’t already know, one way or another. Out of all of us, you and Red are the most similar.”

Sans was always smiling, couldn’t exactly help it; he was born with it, Maybelline. But the bitterness the curled the edges of it was entirely a bonus. “yeah, and i know exactly what kind of fuck up i am.”

But Edge sent him off kilter again, pinballing in another direction by saying, “Actually, I was thinking that if there was anyone I would choose for my brother, it would be you.” 

Sans didn’t realize he was gaping until Edge reached out and firmly tapped his chin, closing his mouth with a click. 

The Papyrus-types had it a little easier with the facial expressions, and Edge’s mouth twisted into a wry smirk, “Being a fuck up is probably a prerequisite before trying a relationship of any sort with my brother.”

Yeah, that could get packaged up for preaching on Sundays. Sans looked into the cookie/coffee soup in his mug, but there wasn’t much point. None of the answers he was looking for were gonna be in there, either. 

_i don’t know what i’m doing. i’m gonna fuck this up, gonna make everything worse. i want him so fucking much that sometimes i wake up in the middle of the night and i can’t breathe because i think i’m alone and i can only start again when i reach out and find him. my soul aches without him, and i can’t tell him any of this shit because he’ll run, i know he’ll run, end up in a truck stop in kansas, drinking shitty coffee and hiding from the world, because once upon a time i’d do the same fucking thing_

It was kinda a relief that none of those tangled thoughts managed to unwind enough to work their way out of his stupid mouth. He’d turned off all the listening devices in the kitchen and had a handy jammer tucked in his pocket, but Sans knew better than to ever assume that Red wasn’t listening at all times. Probably another sign of how fucked up Sans was, because he was almost fond of the idea, Red as this ever-presence, making sure they were all safe and sound, and not hiding any troublesome shit from him. Like they all didn’t have twisted ways of showing they cared?

Good thing Red hadn’t found a way yet to read minds, but Sans wouldn’t doubt it was somewhere on his list. 

Edge was watching him with crimson eye lights that were so like his brother’s, sipping his coffee and waiting for Sans to gather up enough of his wits to not sound like a complete fool. Half a fool was probably the best he could do. 

“thanks,” Sans managed, finally. Came out a little throaty and wrong, and let the Edgelord make what he would of that. For now, Sans only reached out to pat Edge’s gloved hand right in time for the footsteps he heard in the living room to make their way into the kitchen, the door swinging open as Stretch stepped in. 

He scowled almost immediately, glaring down at where their hands were curled together before asking with mock anger, “what the fuck are you two doing in here?”

“having some hot coffee,” Sans said with as much smarm as he could, stroking the back of Edge’s hand with his fingertips while he crammed in the innuendo until it was practically spilling out on the spotlessly clean floor. Well worth it to see Stretch puff up like a poison frog, honestly fucking hilarious because they all damn well knew that Edge’s star was tied to Stretch’s pretty little wagon. Sans could’ve done a strip tease and a lapdance and Edge would’ve stayed cool enough to spit out a pat of butter. 

Meanwhile, Stretch’s eye lights were bleeding into orange to showcase some real temper and it wasn’t Edge he was looking at. Wasn’t that flattering, gee willy whiz, if he’d know he was being cast as a sexpot this afternoon, Sans would have worn his fancy shorts. 

It was Edge who short-circuited the incoming temper tantrum, hooking his foot behind Stretch’s knees and sending him tumbling into his lap. He held him firmly when Stretch would’ve squirmed away, both arms around him until he settled in sullenly, still glaring at Sans. 

“Down, boy,” Edge said dryly. He seemed pretty damn amused by the whole thing; maybe it was the Underfell part of him that liked it when his honey got possessive, liked Stretch playing greedy-guts over him. Sans could only hope. “We were only talking about my brother.”

That deflated him, Stretch sagging back into Edge’s firm hold. “oh.”

“oh?” Sans mimicked, shaking his head sadly. “that it? no ‘i am terribly sorry, sans, for ever questioning your intentions. you are truly a skeleton of honor and would never betray the bonds of family.’”

“fuck off and keep your hands off my husband,” Stretch said, sweetly, and Sans snickered. 

“yeah, yeah, he’s all yours,” Sans hopped out of his seat, giving his coccyx a good scratch, partly because it itched and partly so Edge would huff at his manners. But he really did need to leave, right now, because he was good with Stretch and Edge together, of fucking course he was; those two belonged together, peanut butter and chocolate, shoes and socks, the thigh bone connected to the hip bone, aluminum foil and leftovers. Whatever fucking metaphor felt like joining in to play. 

He was good with it, perfectly fine with Stretch’s cute, insincere jealousy, but his own was burning, sitting uneasily inside him because they got to have this. They got to play at petulance, and he could guess what was gonna happen the moment he shortcutted out, what words they’d whisper to each other in their bed before falling asleep in each other’s arms. 

Meanwhile, he’ll go back to Red’s and they can both pretend he was never here today. He’ll take whatever scraps Red can offer him, clinging stubbornly to every lick of affection whether it’s fucking or food, puns or snark, and anything in between, telling himself it’s better than nothing while he argues silently with a damn cat over which one of them has possession of Red’s lap tonight. 

It wasn’t enough, never was, but it was what he got, and he loved Red enough to take it. So yeah, that was all, wasn’t it, but he still needed to leave. Right now. 

Sans offering a lazy little wave and took a shortcut, letting his smile that never faded show him out. It was okay, it really was, and maybe he didn’t have any new answers, but he hadn’t lost anything, either. Sometimes that was the best you could do. 

His shortcut only took him as far as the sidewalk, but he didn’t try for another. The streets were empty, not a car or a kid in sight. Nightfall came earlier these days and it was already getting cold again, the wind blowing icy fingers through the thin protection of his hoodie. Sans only tucked his hands into his pockets and started on the long walk over to Red’s house. He could use the time to get his head on straight, because trying to do anything with Red without having your ducks in a row was a good way to get your ass handed to you, and Sans wasn’t in the mood for it. 

For now, at least, everything was hanging out in the status quo. Sans’d fuck it all up eventually, that was a given, but it wasn’t gonna be tonight. 

-finis-


End file.
